Lay of the Lioness
by Elsin
Summary: [AU of murkybluematter's Rigel Black Chronicles] Or, the stealth Immortals au. Each chapter is a (relative) standalone.
1. and no one even knew

Remus followed Archie's wishes and did not go to Hogwarts to watch the third task. Instead, he found himself in the Lower Alleys, at the Dancing Phoenix, seeking after Rispah. After a brief discussion of why he was so stressed out, she dragged him out to Diagon Alley to watch Archie on the mirror, and dragged Leo along with them.

The task, as it happened, was a duel. Remus felt an anxious twist in his stomach at that; Harry was the duelist, not Archie. Which was of course why it was such a surprise when the teenager on the stage twisted deftly out of the way of the oncoming spell, moving into a fighter's stance. Next to him, Leo drew in a sharp breath.

Rigel Black won his duel, of course. Then Remus turned to meet Leo's hazel eyes, and saw his own inescapable conclusion written there.

"You go back to the Phoenix," said Leo. "I'll go. We can't go together; that would be far too odd. And I think a non-family-member might garner a better reaction just now."

"All right," said Remus, though he burned to go storming up himself and demand to know just what the hell was going on.

He went back to the Phoenix with Rispah instead.

xxx

Leo waited in a corner of the Three Broomsticks, nursing a drink, until Hermione came in with another student he thought might have been a competitor. When she saw him, she came over to his table.

"Leo," she said. "What are you doing in Hogsmeade?"

"I need to speak to Rigel Black in person," said Leo. "It's somewhat urgent. Can you get a discreet message to him, and tell him I need to speak to him on his cousin's behalf?"

"All right," said Hermione, frowning. She turned and left the Three Broomsticks then, and within the hour had returned with Rigel, who seemed quite tense. Leo himself was calm on the surface, but deep down he was a roiling mess of emotions.

"Thank you," he said to Hermione. "Archie," he went on, for that was the name of the Black scion he'd met, "what I have to say isn't for prying ears. Walk with me?"

"All right," said Rigel, low and tense. He followed Leo out the door and into the alley behind the Three Broomsticks, whereupon Leo held out his arm.

"Leo," said Rigel, "are you sure this is necessary? I know Harry trusts you, but—"

"Do you _really _want to have this conversation here?" asked Leo. "I know a hundred more secure places than this." Harry—for he was sure that this was Harry by now—swallowed.

"No," she said softly, and took hold of his arm. Leo Disapparated, and brought her to his place. It was as well warded as anything, and no one would think to look for her here.

He studied her; she was afraid, he knew. He studied her, and thought, and finally spoke.

"That's why you got the flat," he said. "As an alibi, if it came out that the student at AIM was Arcturus Black instead of Harry Potter. As a bolt hole, if you got caught out at Hogwarts." Harry said nothing, and he sighed. "Lass, I'm hardly going to hand you over," he said. "What do you take me for, a lawman? I'm the King of the Rogue. My lips are sealed, now and forever." Harry shuddered then, and before he knew it she was crying quietly. He'd never seen her cry before, he realized distantly, and he found he didn't quite know what to do now that she was.

"Three years," she mumbled, swiping futilely at her eyes. "Three and a half goddamn years, and it's a stupid bloody duel that catches me out."

Leo stepped towards her then, and carefully put his arms around her. She stiffened momentarily against him but didn't pull away, so he supposed he'd not done anything _too _wrong.

After a time, her tears subsided. Harry sighed and pulled away then, rubbing her eyes.

"Why do it?" he asked.

"Archie didn't want to go to Hogwarts," she said. "He wanted a school that would let him get a Healing certificate at seventeen. And I wanted to study under Severus Snape, learn potions from him, more than anything. So we switched places. Archie went off to America as me, and I took his place at Hogwarts."

Archie had gone to America. Of course. It was little wonder, then, that Harry had rebuked him so strongly for sending Marek to her school. She wouldn't have wanted him to catch on to her ruse—a ruse he could already tell was growing increasingly complex as she grew older.

"And with every passing minute, the lies mount upon lies, so you can't so much as twitch without it crumbling down," said Leo. At Harry's surprise, he laughed. "I _am _the Rogue, lass. I know a thing or two about lies." Here he paused, evaluating Harry's state; she was more stable than she had been before, he thought.

"There's something you ought to know," he continued. "I wasn't alone when I watched the mirror, though I daresay there's only one other person who would have recognized you as I did, and he was with me."

Harry froze. "Remus," she said, voice whisper-soft.

"Aye," said Leo. "He's at the Phoenix now. You can go see him now, or later, or not at all if you don't want to."

"Will he say a word, do you think?" asked Harry, worrying the strap of her potions bag between her fingers.

"I'd be shocked if he did," said Leo. "More than shocked; I would even go so far as to nearly stake my life on his silence, unless it was wrested forcibly from him. He does want to talk to you, though, if you feel you're up to it."

He saw her swallow, saw her steel herself, and knew what her answer would be. Had always known, really.

"I'll go," she said, and her voice was soft but steady. "I—I owe him that much."

Leo frowned, but nodded. "Take my arm, then," he said. It wouldn't do, after all, to have Rigel Black seen wandering the Lower Alleys just then. Not when the youngest Champion _should _have been at Hogwarts, celebrating his victory.

He Disapparated them to reappear in the courtyard behind the Phoenix, and saw Harry swallow.

"There are private rooms here," he said, "though they don't see much use. I can show you to one, then bring Remus up to you, if you want."

"That would probably be best," said Harry stiffly, and so he led her up to the suite that had been _his _rooms until the place had burned and he'd decided he needed a more secure place to stay.

"I can stay and listen, or I can leave you two alone," he said. "Your choice, or you can pass the choice off to Remus."

"I think we'll be better off alone," she said, and he nodded.

"Then I'll be back in a minute."

He went down to the main room and saw Remus, looking far more scattered than he normally did, sitting by Rispah and having a whispered conversation.

"Rigel's upstairs," said Leo. "He's ready to talk to you. I can show you up." The common room was not quite as well warded as his old rooms, and he was hardly going to take his very first chance to betray Harry's trust: _Harry Potter _was in America, after all. Only Rigel Black could possibly be _here_.

So he showed Remus up to his old rooms and reluctantly went down to sit with Rispah. Had it been nearly anyone else, he would have stayed to listen, but this wasn't anyone else. This was Harry, and he could not betray her trust.

He drank lemonade and waited in the tense silence. What he really wanted was ale—he knew he'd have some later, at least, or perhaps liquor; liquor would be good—but he had to stay sober for now.

Rispah did not try to speak to him, for which he was grateful; there was nothing to be said, not now at least. Not here.

Leo sat there for more than an hour, the silence and his worries becoming increasingly oppressive as the day wore on, until finally Harry appeared at the top of the stairs, Remus behind her, looking wan. Her hands, clenched around the strap of her potions bag, seemed to shake ever so slightly. He tilted his head at her, but she shook hers curtly in reply; he nodded, and said nothing.

"I think I'm ready to go back," said Harry, walking briskly to the courtyard behind the Phoenix. Leo, not quite following her yet, turned to Remus, who spoke without being prompted.

"There's nothing to discuss," he said, and Leo nodded again, then followed Harry.

He Apparated them to the alley behind the Three Broomsticks, and brought her around the side of the building before walking with her in a heavy silence to the school gates. Before she could make to enter, he placed a hand lightly on her shoulder.

"Rigel," he said, "I ought to have said this earlier—if you ever need my help, with anything at all, you need only to ask."

"Thank you," said Harry, though she didn't quite sound sincere, at least not in any intent to _actually _ask him for aid, and that wouldn't quite do.

"I mean it," he said softly. "_Anything _you need my help for—your wish is my command."

"All right," said Harry, and she seemed slightly more sincere. It was the best Leo would get from her, he knew.

"Best of luck, then," he said, and she nodded and gave him a slight smile.

Then she was gone, walking back into the lion's den, and he could only stand there and watch her go, and hope that she would not be consumed by it.

Once he could no longer see her, Leo turned on his heel and vanished.


	2. bright the fire, light the flame

Two days before they were to leave for the final task, Rigel received a package. It had no sender listed. She opened it cautiously, in her lab; she didn't dare open it at the table. She cast spell after spell at it, trying to figure out what it might be, what it might do, to tell if it was nefarious—but it responded to nothing she did.

When she opened the package, she found it contained a tarnished silver ring set with a large translucent crystal. She couldn't place it, which was more than a little troubling, for Rigel had a decent knowledge of stones.

Neither Draco nor Pansy knew anything about the ring, nor what its stone might be. Rigel ended up slipping it into her potions bag, into a small inner pocket, and put her attention elsewhere.

* * *

The final task, as it transpired, would not take place at Hogwarts. It would not take place in the UK at all. Rather, it was slated to take place far to the south, in a city called Persopolis in the middle of the Arabian Desert. The city itself was a magical enclave which had stood for centuries untold, inhabited by both magicals and muggles. Its people were called the Bazhir.

All of the champions, even those who had not made it to the final rounds, were invited. Because the Malfoys were so very important, Draco, too, would be coming; with them, they were bringing Pansy. Other than that, Rigel realized that she would be quite alone in the desert, for she hadn't told her family that they could come see her. Maybe that was part of the point.

At the gates of the city they were welcomed by the city's governor, Ali Mukhtab. Looking around her, Rigel thought that there were more adults and hangers-on in their party than there were people of competition age. She had sent word to Krait to tell him that he'd have to do without her potions for the next two weeks—they were to be put up in the city for two weeks in total. The final task would take place on the eleventh day.

"Listen to me," Riddle had said to all the champions and former-champions, gathered in a classroom in Hogwarts prior to their departure. Draco, for whatever reason, had been lurking in the back. "There is tale," Riddle had said, "that they tell in Persopolis: a tale of a city carved of black stone, empty of all life. They say it calls to their youths, the more powerful the better, and that it consumes them. This is—unlikely. Far more probable is that their youths simply depart for other cities with better prospects. But make no mistake—the Black City holds a great evil. Do not go there, unless you mean to risk your very souls." His eyes had met Rigel's, then flicked to the back; she'd seen him looking sternly at Draco. "That is all," he'd said, and then he'd let them go. Rigel still didn't know what to make of the incident.

On the night after their arrival, there was a great feast held in the castle. Rigel was the center of attention, of course, along with Hermione and Fleur, who were the other two finalists. She ran a frustrated hand through her hair—she really hated all the pageantry here, and she could do nothing about it—and turned, finding herself face-to-face with Ali Mukhtab.

"How do you find it here?" the governor asked her. She shrugged.

"I imagine I'd like it better if I wasn't the focal point," she said honestly. "Still, it's fascinating. I've never left Great Britain before." She would have, had she gone to AIM as she'd been meant to. "And I'm always interested in places that aren't as—separated—as Britain is."

"Ah, yes," said the governor. "You do not mingle with muggles at home, so I imagine this might be strange for you."

"A bit, yes," said Rigel. "Though not quite as strange as how dry the air is."

"I have heard that Britain is rather damper than our home," he said dryly. "This is your first desert, yes? What do you think of the land? It, at least, will not pay you any mind."

Having been Portkeyed directly into the city, Rigel had not had the opportunity to stand in the open expanse of the desert, and she told Mukhtab so. "But I looked off the wall," she said; they'd been given a tour of the city after their arrival. "Out over the sand. It's beautiful, in a way I've never seen at home."

"Beautiful, yes," said Mukhtab with a smile, "but dangerous, too. Never forget that: the desert is a harsh mistress, and it can overwhelm even the greatest of wizards." He gave her a look that was somehow sharp even through his half-lidded eyes, and she nodded.

"I'll remember." There was silence for a moment, as all around them the party continued. "You know," she added thoughtfully, feeling inexplicably emboldened, "Riddle told us a tale before we came here, of a black city on the horizon."

"Did he indeed," said Mukhtab. "How curious. If you can escape, and can gather your friends, there is something you might be interested in seeing."

Rigel nodded to him, then slipped away. Draco and Pansy were easy to collect, and in the end she decided to send Pansy back to collect Hermione rather than go herself and risk being caught up again. When the four of them had gathered, they left through the door that the governor had pointed out to Rigel earlier. He was waiting for them on the other side.

"Come," he said, and led the way to a wooden door with a brass doorknob. He pulled out a matching key, unlocked it, and showed them inside. "This," he said, "is the Sunset Room."

The Sunset Room was quite unlike anywhere else in the castle. Its walls were covered in colorful mosaics depicting terrible scenes; there was farming, and fire, and monsters and blood. Rigel tore her attention from them to the open western wall, where the light of the setting sun shone into their eyes.

"Look into the sun," said Ali Mukhtab, "and you will see the Black City."

Rigel saw it—a tiny speck against the blaze on the horizon—and turned away as her eyes began to sting.

"Riddle said it calls your children," she said. "How so?"

"The city itself does not," said Mukhtab. "But the ones who live in it, the Nameless Ones—they do. They lived here many centuries ago, when we first came from across the sea, and we worked their fields." He sighed, and gestured out at the desert. "All this was green and fertile, or so they say. When we learned that they were stealing our souls, we burned their fields and cities, and all this turned to dust."

"How could you burn them?" asked Hermione. "If they were so powerful, I mean."

"They fear fire above all else," said Mukhtab. "We placed a barrier of fire around their city, and they cannot cross it though I know they have tried."

Hermione kept asking questions, and Ali Mukhtab answered them to the best of his ability. Rigel was only half-listening, and she drifted over to the open wall to gaze out over the desert. Eventually it grew late, and Mukhtab sent them off to bed.

"What do you think the truth of it is?" asked Pansy, and Hermione frowned. Before she could say anything, Draco cut in.

"It's just stories," he said dismissively. "Stories for the Bazhir to tell their children to keep them close. There are many dangers of the desert, after all."

Rigel looked sharply at him. She didn't trust that tone in his voice, but she chose to say nothing. They all separated to go off to bed, and she changed into nightclothes before climbing under her covers, reveling in the private rooms they'd all been given here; it relaxed her somewhat that she would not need to worry about hiding her sex each night going into the final task.

* * *

Rigel woke quite suddenly before dawn. A humming energy infused her, though she knew not where it came from. Uneasily, she dressed as she might for a Task, making sure her two undershirts were on right. Looking down at her chest, she frowned; it was growing annoyingly large, and soon she might need another solution. But that was no matter now; she returned to dressing, and pulled on the running shoes that had been a gift to her after the amount of running she'd had to do in the earlier tasks. Finally she slung her potions bag over her shoulder, slipped on the crystal ring almost as an afterthought, and stepped out into the hallway. There was merit to these new shoes, she thought; it was easier to move quietly in them.

Further down the hall, a door opened, and out stepped Draco. He was dressed similarly to her. Seeing her, he grinned.

"You're mad," he said.

"So are _you,_" she snapped softly.

"I'm going," said Draco. "You can't stop me, Rigel."

"I know," she said. "I'm going, too." She paused. "Should we wake Pansy?" she asked.

Draco snorted. "What, and have her call us ten kinds of idiot before dragging us somewhere we can't go off from? I think not. Come on, night's a-wasting." He turned, and led the way down the corridor.

Together they snuck out of the castle, and when Draco made to aim for the gates Rigel shook her head, and instead took them to the Apparation point. A Galleon to the guard ensured his silence and permitted their passage, and Rigel grinned at Draco.

"Hold tight," she said. He gripped her arms, and looked as if he would like to protest, but thankfully said nothing. Rigel closed her eyes, and, turning on her heel, asked her magic to take her to the Black City. When she opened them again, after she'd been quite squeezed, they were out in the desert before the city gates.

"When did you learn to do _that_?" asked Draco.

"Last summer," said Rigel.

"Who taught you, then?"

"I have some friends in London," said Rigel after a moment's hesitation. "They've been teaching me free dueling, and one of them taught me to Apparate for that last summer."

"Free dueling," Draco muttered under his breath. "No wonder you keep trying to do illegal things at dueling club."

"Sorry about that," said Rigel with a grimace. She gestured at the city. "Shall we?"

They passed through the gates.

* * *

The sun beat down on them as they explored the Black City. Looking around, Rigel saw that every inch of the glossy black stone that made up the city was covered in frightening carvings. The buildings seemed to have been carved from the same stone as the city, rising seamlessly from it. Her nose stung, and she wished she'd thought to bring some sort of sunblock potion. All her preparations, and here she was, defeated by the _sun_.

"Draco," she said softly, "why me?"

"As opposed to Pansy, or your friend Granger, or even another champion?"

"Yeah."

"Well, that would be because any of them would've grumbled all the way here, and smacked me over the head when I actually tried to enter the city. I knew you'd come and keep quiet."

"That's because I'm the only one with insanity in my family," Rigel grumbled, though really she wasn't—after all, the Black family (and by extension the Malfoys) had much more insanity in it than the Potters—but of course Draco didn't know that.

They went on, slowly meandering towards the city center.

"Riddle wasn't wrong," said Rigel, still quiet. "This place—it's evil." It itched at her, pressed against her magic. In her mind, Dom grumbled.

"I know," said Draco, just as soft. Yet still they pressed on, until, with the sun high overhead, they reached the central plaza.

It was a glassy black expanse, seeming to absorb the light that struck it, and in its center was a tall black tower, rising smoothly from it. Rigel found she did not want to step on it; yet Draco had gone on already, and so step she did. Together they climbed the stairs to the top of the tower, where dark wooden doors—the only ones they'd seen in all the city—barred their way.

"I don't think we should go in," said Rigel. "My magic—it's _humming_."

"Oh, come on, Rigel," said Draco. "We can't come all this way just to turn back at the last second." They could, of course. But Rigel gritted her teeth instead.

"Fine."

He pushed open the door, and together they stepped into the temple.

"Wands out, d'you reckon?" he asked, and she glared at him. Her wand was already in her hand.

"If we get ourselves killed here, Pansy'll never forgive us," said Rigel instead of replying to the absurd question.

"True," said Draco. His laugh was quickly consumed by the heavy air in the temple. At the other end was a black stone block, so dark it hurt to look at; Rigel could see no reflections anywhere on it.

That was when the yellow-green light which had hung, sourceless, about them rippled across the room. When their eyes cleared, ten men and women stood before the altar.

They were as tall as Hagrid and taller, and painfully beautiful—though it was a cold, cruel beauty, Rigel thought. In her head, Dom was silent.

"It has been so long," said a woman in red. "And they are so small."

Another, this one with red, claw-like fingernails, stretched out a hand. "Feel the life in them, Ylira. It is a flame. These two will be enough for us all."

"This was _your _idea," muttered Rigel. She took a half-step sideways so she was nearly shoulder-to-shoulder with Draco. Her magic vibrated in her, a sensation just a little too close to resonance for her comfort.

"So," said Draco. His voice was calm, though Rigel knew it was forced. "Who are you, anyway?"

"They speak." That was one of the men. "And look at the little one. It will hit us with its spells." The others laughed, and Rigel steeled herself against the terrible sound.

The tallest man smiled, but it wasn't a kind smile. "Mortal magic cannot hurt us," he said in a deep, booming voice. "We are the Ysandir. We are immortal. We come from the Old Times."

"Then what use have you for us?" asked Draco. If Rigel had known him even slightly less well, she wouldn't have caught the fear under his arrogance. She didn't dare try to ground him; her own emotions were in turmoil, and she couldn't have blocked them out with all the Occlumency in the world. He would have to manage on his own.

"We are hungry, of course," said the red-clawed woman. "The desert-men have grown too careful. They have not let their young here for a year or more."

"How silly," purred a woman with snow-white hair. "He thinks his _government _will hunt for them and destroy us. As if his precious _government _wasn't wholly occupied with silly politics—and after all, he's no prince."

"Be that as it may," said the tallest one. He smiled coldly. "I am Ylon, chief of the Ysandir. I have fed on mortal lives since time immemorial. Let your _government _send its wizards. Their souls will only make us stronger, and we will break the curse of fire upon this place." At his words Rigel felt cold. They could see into Draco's mind; that was the only way they could know his thoughts. If they could see into _his _mind—well. She could only place her trust in Dom, and hope for the best.

"We need no Aurors," said Draco. "We'll leave on our own, thanks."

"Listen to him," said the clawed woman, mockingly. "What arrogance for a little boy!"

Neither she nor Draco reacted to the jab, though she felt power coiling in her.

That was when the crystal in her ring flashed, and the Ysandir shrank back. Rigel stared from her hand to the Ysandir and back again.

"So," said Ylon. "You have a trinket, little one. Can you use it?"

"Ylanda," said Ylira suddenly, before Rigel had a chance to answer. "I cannot see into this one's mind. It is hiding something. Where did you get that ring?"

"I don't know," said Rigel flatly. "It was a gift." She made a mistake, then—she focused on Ylira just slightly too much, and felt a spike of pain in her head. At that, she gave a soft cry and on instinct threw up her wand-hand, where the crystal ring sat. It flashed light across the room, and Ylanda fell back.

"Do try to keep your openings to a minimum, Rigel," Draco snapped. He was building up a spell, Rigel saw, though she wasn't yet sure what it was. She swiftly raised a shield herself—without Draco by her side she would have used the Depasco shield, but with him so near she didn't dare.

"It's not like I planned on _that _one," she retorted. Before they could go on, however, Ylanda recovered herself and began to laugh.

"What a jest!" she said. "What a jest indeed. Young man—see your companion for what she really is!"

"She?" said Draco. His tone carried nothing but bafflement, but Rigel—well. Rigel was cold with fear. Before she could raise her hand again, or do anything to defend herself, a combined strike from Ylanda and Ylon broke through her shield and crashed into her. When pain had blazed briefly in her, she found she was as she had been, with a rather substantial difference. Her clothes were gone. All she had left were her shoes (and socks) and potions bag, and the belt she'd put her knife on.

The Ysandir all laughed then. "A girl—a _halfblood _girl! His boy companion was a halfblood girl!"

"And yet she hopes to escape us," said Ylira, scorn dripping from each word. "A jest indeed, Ylanda."

Harry swore, and gave up covering herself to hold up her ring, letting its light blaze freely. "Sure," she said. "I'm a halfblood girl. It hasn't stopped me yet, and I don't expect it to anytime soon." She glanced cautiously at Draco, who was staring at her. She opened her mouth to speak, but he cut her off with a curt shake of his head.

"Later, Potter," he said, and handed her his outer robe. She nodded, pulled it swiftly on, and turned her attention back to the Ysandir.

"Separate them," said Ylon, and Harry grabbed for Draco's hand, no longer thinking of his empathy. After a fraction of a second his hand closed around hers, a near-crushing grip. Magic hung thickly in the air around them.

"Depasco shield," said Draco sharply. "Cast it!" She did so without question. Draco brought up his wand, and took control of the spell from her. She glanced nervously at him; his core couldn't support the spell for long, she knew, whereas she could hold it far longer. That was when she realized that there was more to their handholding than simply solidarity—somehow, they'd bridged their cores together, and Draco was drawing on her power.

"You dare defy us?" cried Ylon. "Let us see how that lasts, mortals!"

Pain shot through their hands then, but they only clung all the more tightly. Harry's bones creaked under Draco's grip.

The shield ate every spell that landed upon it, and when two of the Ysandir threw themselves upon it they, too, were consumed, vanishing with a terrible shriek.

"So you aren't true immortals," said Harry. "You can be killed."

"How long do you think she will last?" Ylira asked Draco, not even looking at Harry. "A moment more? Less? She is a halfblood. She is weak. What can she do but fail, and leave you behind, undeserving deceiver that she is?"

It was all Harry's doubts, put into terrible words, and she narrowed her eyes through the shield.

"You say that," she said, "but I know you cannot mean it. Not if you truly looked into my mind." She cast her attention over the spell; Draco had it under control. She left him to it, and raised her wand to cast the Scourging Curse; it hit Ylira, but though she growled in what might have been pain, she was left unmarked. Of course it hadn't worked, Harry thought bitterly; Ylira was, after all, _immortal_, or close to it. She laughed cruelly.

"Weak, as I thought," she scoffed. Harry narrowed her eyes: the Ysandir would be immune to most physical spells, if she was right. And most of her repertoire_ was _physical, designed for human opponents. So it was that she was left only with a spell she'd never so much as tried before.

"Avada Kedavra," she said softly, and a jet of green light struck Ylira square on. She fell back and vanished.

Harry hadn't known that using the Killing Curse would be so easy. She didn't have time to dwell on it, though, because three of the Ysandir were casting yet another spell, and she was so tired; her head ached already.

"Take over the shield," said Draco, sharply, and Harry wordlessly complied. Draco in turn narrowed his eyes at the trio, and cast a nonverbal spell that shot a jet of black light into the heart of the trio; all three screamed and vanished in a blaze. Harry stared. She hadn't known that Draco knew such high-level Dark spells. It was that display which emboldened her for what she asked next.

"Do you know fiendfyre?" she asked. "I know the counterspell, but—"

"Yes," said Draco, and he cast it through the shield—it blazed across the room, eating up the screaming Ysandir as it went, before blinking out as quickly as it had come. Draco and Harry stared. Fiendfyre simply wasn't supposed to _do _that—it was supposed to burn unfettered, until it was stopped by magic. Here it had vanished as if it had never been, and Harry knew once more that they were dealing with something utterly beyond them.

Only two remained, of the many there had been: Ylon and Ylanda. They grasped hands, a terrible mirror of Harry and Draco, and Ylon pointed to their shield.

"_ Ak-hoft!_" he cried, and the shield vanished; just as well, really, if they didn't want it to consume all their reserves.

"The others were weak," said Ylon. "Greedy. Impatient. Foolish. We are not."

"We are the First," said Ylanda. "We have been here since time immemorial, and here we shall remain."

"The first _what_?" asked Draco. Harry wiped her brow with Draco's borrowed sleeve.

"Gods," said Ylanda, "and children of gods. We have seen empires rise and fall. We have seen fertile land turn all to dust."

"Gods," said Harry. "Sure. Like _those _exist."

"How curious," said Ylanda, sounding halfway sincere. "You don't believe in gods, yet—how do you think you've done all this? Surely you know no ordinary mortal could have done it."

"You can't be gods anyway," said Draco, "even if they do exist. Gods don't die. You do."

"Even immortals die when they weaken, boy," said Ylon. "Ylanda and I are strong. We will not weaken. We will not die."

"I'll believe it when I see it," said Draco scornfully.

"You're old, you say," said Harry. "I believe you, you know. But all that means is that your time—it's come and gone. It's time for you to leave."

Ylon and Ylanda did not answer. Instead they began to chant in a language that tore at Harry, grating relentlessly at her, and Draco narrowed his eyes.

"Can you keep them occupied, and let me at your magic? I have a spell—I think—but it'll take time. And power. A _lot _of power."

"I'll try to stick to precision work, then," said Harry. There was no point in saying anything else.

Draco closed his eyes, and breathed deeply, and began a soft, rumbling chant. Pain ran through Harry's body, but she paid it no mind. Instead she watched the Ysandir.

She held up her ring, and the magic they cast broke over it. After that she left them no time; she began to cast spells. Hastily, Ylon summoned a sword, and Harry grinned. She knew all sorts of magic, of course; she was _good _at magic, too. But this was what she'd poured herself into, all those summers in the Lower Alleys. She left the arcane Dark magic to Draco.

Ylon parried her spells, but she realized he didn't know what she was casting; he parried them all, and she was casting wordlessly, and so he didn't know what she was trying to hit them with. Her grin sharpened. He was immortal—maybe—but he was no duelist.

With Draco holding her hand, she had much less maneuverability, but that was all right; she'd learned from the goblin in the tournament that she didn't want to get into his sword's range anyway. She cast too quickly for him to advance on her, but just slowly enough to let him parry them all—she couldn't let him actually be hit with one. And all the while, behind her, Draco built their spell. Finally her murmured to her.

"Break them apart," he said, and she nodded, and slashed down with her wand twice. Her first spell struck Ylon's sword, as she'd expected it to, and the blade shattered. Her second spell lashed down upon their hands, forcing them to release each other and dispelling their magic. They cried out in rage.

That was when Draco poured all their combined magic into his spell, and violet fire—brighter, hotter than anything Harry had ever seen—flared around the Ysandir. They gave a terrible, bloodcurdling scream and vanished. Harry's knees buckled, and she found that she couldn't stop herself from falling to the floor, darkness washing over her.

* * *

When they woke, they did not speak. Every muscle in Harry's body rebelled, and she bit her lip to contain a groan. A single scorch mark was upon the floor, all that remained to Ylon and Ylanda. She glanced at Draco, but he wasn't looking at her. Silently they descended the tower and stumbled to the city gates, where they stopped, gazing blearily out over the desert. The sun had set while they'd lain in the tower.

"We'll never make it back," said Harry. Her core was listless and cool, and she doubted if Draco was any better. She didn't have enough magic left to apparate, unless—

"I know that," said Draco. She couldn't read his emotion from his voice.

"Let me meditate a moment," said Harry, and she sat against the wall before Draco could say anything in protest. She sank into her mindscape, and winced at what she saw. There was a smoldering scar down her mountain, and Dom was glaring at her.

"What," he said, "_the hell _was that?"

"I thought you wanted me to do great deeds," said Harry wearily. "Be great. You know. All that."

"I wouldn't have recommended you take on the _Ysandir _as your first immortal fight," Dom snapped. He sighed. "You're here for the magic, I expect," he said. "You know I can't protect you if I don't have it, right?" Harry sighed in response.

"We need to get away from here," she said. "And Draco knows who I am, anyway. I haven't anything to hide."

"All right," said Dom, though he clearly wasn't happy about it, and he handed back her last scraps of magic. She looked at it dubiously, then sighed. It was all she had, so it would have to do. She thanked Dom, and rose out of her mindscape.

Draco was drowsing against the wall of the city when she opened her eyes, and she shook his shoulder. He blinked, and looked up at her.

"Rigel?" he said, before a quite different look came over him, and Harry couldn't hide her flinch.

"I have a little magic back," she said. "Not enough to take us back to Persopolis, but there's an oasis not too far from here, and I think I've got just enough to take us there."

"All right," said Draco. He sounded as weary as she felt. She was tired, in more than one way, and had so little magic, and so instead of grabbing his hand she wrapped her arms around him and Disapparated.

They reappeared by the oasis, and she released him at once.

"Sorry," she said stiffly. "I didn't want to risk splinching you. Or me."

They sat on the grass together, under the stars, and it was only after several minutes that either spoke again.

"I wasn't wrong, was I," said Draco. "You're Harriett Potter."

"Yes."

"Then would I be right to guess that the Harry Potter in America is the _real _Rigel Black?" At that, Harry shrugged.

"I wouldn't say that exactly," she said slowly. "I'm the only one of us two who's ever gone by Rigel. He goes by Archie, when he's being himself. But yes, the Harry Potter in America is the real Arcturus Rigel Black."

Draco snorted. "You know what I meant." He paused. "Then—you wanted to come to Hogwarts. Why?" There was much left unsaid, and Harry sighed.

"First—remember I was _ten _when I came up with this plan," she said. "I hadn't even turned eleven; it was the summer before me and Archie were set to go off to school. I wanted to go to Hogwarts so I could study under Severus Snape."

Draco, predictably, snorted again. "Of course you did," he said. "How very _you_. How did you convince… Archie… to take your place?"

"I didn't have to," said Harry. "He didn't want to go to Hogwarts; the healing program at Hogwarts is, quite frankly, disgraceful. He wanted to go to AIM so he could graduate with a Healing certificate at seventeen."

"All right," said Draco, frowning now. "I… I understand why you did it, I suppose, though I hope if you were put in a similar position now you would make a slightly more sensible decision, seeing as you _aren't _ten anymore. But how did you manage to pull off your… look? I'm assuming that you and _Archie _don't naturally look like identical twin boys."

"Hardly," said Harry. She sighed. "I can't say we look exactly like identical _boys _anymore, anyway," she muttered, glancing down at her chest. Under Draco's outer robe it was all-too-obvious what she was. Before Draco could interrupt, she gathered herself and went on. "In the first year, we really did look quite similar," she said. "We didn't do anything to change our appearances, except for cutting off our hair and both wearing colored contact lenses. After that we realized that it was too risky, having us look different; so we found an old spell that would let us blend two hairs together, and I discovered that if you brew Polyjuice potion with amber sitting in it, it'll last for months or years even, depending on how much you've used."

"So your blended appearance—why not pretend to be a boy completely, then? Is Archie pretending to be a girl?"

She shook her head. "I didn't think it would be good for me, to suppress the… nature… of certain organs for that long. And no, Archie isn't pretending to be a girl—they don't know the Book of Gold very well after all, over in America. And you forget—I still spend my summers at home, and so I have to look enough like a girl that no one questions me there. Enough like a boy that no one questions me at school." She closed her eyes then. "They couldn't have caught Archie out with that clothes trick," she said glumly.

"Why do you say that?"

"You know the story about his passive metamorphing, I suppose," said Harry.

"As if that's a thing anyone'd ever heard of," said Draco, and Harry laughed softly.

"It isn't," she said. "A thing, I mean, at least as far as I know. He's just a metamorphmagus; it's… good I suppose, that he's got it. Even with the potion our appearances started to diverge as we got older, and he can morph himself into looking like me, no matter what."

Again they were silent for a time, resting in the desert, away from everything that mattered. Finally Harry gathered her nerves, and asked the question that had been weighing on her ever since they'd woken in the temple.

"What are you going to do about me?" she asked.

"What do you mean?" asked Draco, and she glared at him.

"I'm committing _blood identity theft_," she snapped. "I've been committing it since I was eleven, on the very first day we met. What are you going to do about that?"

"Nothing at all," said Draco. "Not a damn thing. As far as I'm concerned you earned the right to be at Hogwarts a long time ago." He was stiff, she saw as she looked at him, and she looked away, running a hand through her hair.

"I don't know if I really want to ask what you'd have said if you'd found out before today," she murmured, and she heard him sigh.

"Honestly? I don't know," he said. "I mean—you saved my life back in first year. You've been doing public services for the school since day one, practically. But after today—that's what matters, isn't it? I'd probably have been more upset, at least. It's a bit hard to be upset at you when I'm sure neither of us could have taken the Ysandir on our own, though."

"Speaking of the Ysandir," said Harry, glad to turn the conversation away from her deception, "isn't it—odd—that you and I could destroy ancient immortals? We aren't so very old, nor so very powerful." Draco shifted next to her.

"I was actually going to ask you about that," he said slowly. "You see, the spells I cast at them—the ones that worked, at least—they were all from the Malfoy library. I can't usually cast them, at least not all in a row. You're Lord-level, aren't you?"

"Yes," said Harry. There was no point in denying it, now that it was obviously true.

"There was… something else, too," said Draco. "When I was casting that final spell—there's a call in it, you know. _Goddess, Great Mother, Dark Lady—open the Way for us_. I never put much thought into it before—it's an ancient spell, and I assumed it was some superstitious nonsense from ages past that no one had known how to remove without damaging the rest of the spell. But when I called on it—did something hurt you then?"

"Yes," said Harry again. "Like there was something my body wasn't quite built to handle." Draco let out a shaky breath.

"Oh, good," he murmured. "It wasn't just me. I heard—a _voice _isn't quite right. It was deeper than that; I felt it in my bones, and I put my trust in the spell, and there was power there that wasn't yours and wasn't mine. It felt—old. Older than even the Ysandir."

"The Ysandir," said Harry. "They mentioned something about me having help to pull off this deception. They implied I had, I don't know, _divine _aid, but there aren't any gods, are there? And if there were—wouldn't I know if I was, I don't know, in the hand of this Goddess?"

"There are more references to gods than any self-respecting modern family would admit to in old magic books," said Draco. "The spell I used back there isn't the only one like that."

Harry sighed and lay down, staring up at the starry sky. "There's nothing we can do about it now," she said.

"Hmm," said Draco, lying down next to her. "What were you casting at them, by the way?"

"Trip jinxes," said Harry, "and color-change spells, and a Bat-Bogey Hex or three." Next to her Draco choked.

"I'm sorry, _what_? You were fighting immortal maybe-gods with _trip jinxes_?"

"They couldn't tell what I was casting," she said. "So all I had to do was cast just slowly enough that they could block them all, but not so slowly it was unbelievable. You needed as much power as I could leave you, so I used low-power spells. With all that—they couldn't risk me hitting them, you see, not after I hit and killed one of them with the Killing Curse."

They were quiet for a time, Draco occasionally shaking his head and muttering something under his breath.

"Who else knows, anyway?" he finally asked.

"Archie, of course," said Harry. "Besides that, there's Remus, and Leo Hurst."

"Isn't that the Aldermaster's son?" asked Draco, and Harry smiled.

"Among other things," she said. "Remus taught me standard dueling; Leo taught me to free duel. They watched the third task on the mirrors in Diagon Alley, and they _both _recognized my fighting style. Leo confronted me afterwards."

"I remember that," said Draco. "Granger came to you, after that task, and when you'd gone and come back hours later you looked like you'd seen a ghost." Harry grimaced.

"That… wasn't fun," she said, "that's all I'll say. But they both don't plan to say a word. I doubt Remus will want to talk about it, but if you want to meet Leo I can introduce the two of you this summer."

"So," said Draco, "how the hell did Riddle get you into the Tournament, anyway?" He paused before choking on a laugh. "Merlin," he said, "he won't be happy when your secret comes out."

"It won't," said Harry dully. "It can't. I wish—I wish I could tell him, at the end of this thrice-bedamned Tournament, but I can't. Not if I want to stay free and at Hogwarts."

"It'll come out eventually," said Draco. "These things always do—even if you don't reveal yourself, you'll have to reveal at some point that the Rigel Black at Hogwarts now isn't the real Archie Black, since I imagine you don't want to stay switched forever, and I doubt if you'd be able to convincingly switch back."

"That's something of the plan," said Harry. "When we're grown, Archie reveals himself for who he really is, and I reveal that I've been living in an apartment in Diagon Alley for the past seven years, doing a correspondence school, and Rigel Black disappears entirely. Turns out he was a halfblood nobody from the continent."

"I hope that works out for you," said Draco, shaking his head. "Still, that's a halfblood reveal. I hope I'm around when Riddle learns his precious pureblood champion is a halfblood, though, his face will be a study in horror."

"I wouldn't have thought you'd be so calm about me upsetting your whole worldview," said Harry.

"Well," said Draco, "I admit I may still be in shock, just a little. Anyway I'm too tired to be upset, and besides that—this explains so much about you, you know."

"You should know," said Harry, "every time you've seen me and Archie together—we've been ourselves."

"Like at—oh," said Draco with a wince. "Merlin, I've been an ass, haven't I."

Harry nodded silently. "I don't hold it against you," she said.

"Can we tell Pansy?" asked Draco finally. "I don't think she'd—mind."

"That makes her an accomplice," said Harry. "Half the reason I never tell anyone is for my own sake, but the other half is for the fact that telling someone makes them complicit if they don't turn me in."

"Please, Rye," said Draco. "Harry. I think—" He swallowed audibly. "Well. I think I might want to talk about this later, and I don't know if I'll want to talk to _you_."

"I'll think about it," said Harry finally. "We should get some sleep. I think I'll have enough magic back by the morning that I'll be able to get us back to Persopolis."

"All right," said Draco, and together they lay on the grass by the oasis, gazing up at the sky. In the morning there would be Lord Riddle to face, and consequences, and other general annoyances, but for now—for now they were tired and sore and there was nothing for them to do but go to sleep, and sort it out in the morning.


	3. because i was compelled

The summer that he graduated from Hogwarts, when he was yet seventeen, Severus Snape went to Greece. There were potions ingredients to be found there; they would grow nowhere else, and were best picked fresh by the potioneer. And that was how he found himself in the ruins.

Really, he didn't care about ancient history except as it pertained to potions, and there, on the muggle side of some Mycenaean ruins, there was nothing to catch his eye. He didn't even know the name of the place; all he knew was that elderwort grew there and only there. And he was hunting the elusive violet flower.

Casting a quick glance around to make sure no one could see him, he disillusioned himself. He didn't fancy getting caught by muggles in a place where he wasn't meant to be. Of course he could get out of such a situation, but still. It would be a hassle.

Hidden now from sight, Severus made his way into the ruins. After an hour's worth of walking and dodging tourists—he was starting to doubt his disillusionment plan—he finally made his way deep enough in that the crowds thinned and, out of the corner of his eye, he glimpsed a flash of purple. A sharp grin made its way across his face. Finally.

He climbed carefully up the crumbling structure, staying as best as he could on the solid stone that remained in place. Once he reached the flower he'd tired of shaking his hair from his face, and accordingly tied it back.

The violet elderwort flowers grew from turquoise stalks, and their leaves were magenta, sprouting from the base. Severus carefully selected two stalks and four leaves, cutting them on a strict forty-five-degree angle before wrapping them in mulberry silk and slipping them delicately into his clipping case, brought with him in his bag. Then he stood and moved on from that location; he could not take too many cuttings from any one place, lest he damage the population.

And that was how his afternoon and evening went, until the setting sun stained the sky red and he had sixteen stalks and thirty-two leaves. It was time for him to leave; he had what he had come for, and more easily than he had expected, too.

Severus clambered down the ruins to the paved street below, and set about retracing his route. Or—well. He certainly _meant _to retrace his route. But there was a ruined temple to his right, and it called to him.

It called him with a high, singing voice that couldn't be ignored, though not for lack of trying on his part. He shook his head furiously, but still its song echoed on, and without his proper input he found his feet carrying him towards it. The song filled his mind, and he followed it into the temple.

Sitting there on a column was a girl with short red hair and violet eyes. Across her lap she had a sword with a crystal in its pommel, and she gave him a wicked grin as he, enraptured, gazed on. Severus reached out, and closed his hand on the hilt. The song fractured then, and the red-haired girl was gone as if she had never been. In her place stood a girl with long, tangled black curls and the brightest green eyes Severus had ever seen. Brighter even than Lily's.

On her right forefinger a ring blazed, a tiny supernova, a miniature star. Somehow, he knew that its crystal was the same as the one in the first girl's sword. She gave him a small, sad smile, and then she was gone. In her place, before Severus' very eyes, an image unfolded: a black city, shining under the sun. He blinked, and it too was gone, the fractured song with it.

He felt cold then, and dragged down by a bone deep exhaustion. In his hand he no longer held the sword; instead he held the girl's ring.

Some instinct kept him from putting it on. It was not, he knew, for him. So instead he tucked it carefully into his potions bag, and without a word he turned on his heel and left the ruined temple.

He'd had enough mysterious encounters for a lifetime, thank you very much.

xxx

Only two weeks remained before the departure of the Champions to Persopolis, and some indescribable discomfort crawled under Severus' skin. A glimmer of a long-forgotten song rang in his mind. He ignored them both.

He observed Rigel's free brewing with something uncomfortably close to pride; his apprentice was coming along very nicely indeed. He could only hope that the boy would not be killed at the last stage of the Tournament, so close to freedom. Finally night came, and Rigel cleaned up his station and left, and Severus himself went off to bed.

He dreamed of a black city, shining in the sun. In the street stood his apprentice, dressed as he would be for a Task, a star shining on his hand. The boy turned to him, and unlike with the two girls he'd seen so long ago there was no smile on his face. Rigel gave him a stare that seemed to cut right through him, then turned away. Flames rose up behind him, burning the city away to nothing.

Severus woke in a cold sweat, and went about his day as if nothing had happened—for nothing _had _happened. It was but a dream.

That night, he dreamed the dream again, exactly as it had been before. Again he woke in a cold sweat, and still he acted as if it were all the same. As if there was no sign hanging over him.

The dreams continued for five more nights.

On the seventh morning, Severus growled, low in his throat. He knew what he had to do.

For nearly seventeen years the crystal ring had sat in a box, untouched even by him. He pulled it from its box—it looked no different than it had then—and wrapped it in parchment, then, using a handwriting charm to disguise his penmanship, scrawled his apprentice's name across the package. As the sun was rising he carried it up to the Owlery, and sent it off with a school owl.

Finally he might be able to get some _rest_.

Indeed, the dreams did stop.

xxx

The streets were silent as Rigel and Draco returned to Persopolis. They'd apparated in shortly after dawn, and the city natives stared at them. Some even knelt. Both teenagers looked hideously uncomfortable with the attention directed their way.

On Rigel's forefinger, there was a brightly-shining star.


	4. a voice like baying hounds

_This takes place before the second chapter of _your heart on the line_, and mostly takes place after the first._

xxx

After the Black City, the final task seemed terribly anticlimactic. Rigel tried to pay attention to it, she did—after all, she couldn't help but try her hardest, with how the Vow tugged at her—but still she was distracted. After their return, she'd reluctantly shed her ring, but somehow her hand felt bare without it.

She won Riddle's tournament, because of _course _she did. She'd only ever had to be mediocre to do so.

Riddle held her up before the world as _Arcturus Rigel Black, pureblood supreme_—and it burned in her. It burned her away to dust, but she bit her lip till it bled and said not a word.

_Someday_, she vowed to herself. Someday she would tell him, somehow. Rigel found she didn't quite care as much anymore that telling him would mean her arrest.

The final days in Persopolis whirled by, and then she was going back, and everything was different even though next to nothing had _changed_.

After demons and Tasks, the rest of the year blurred by. Rigel passed her classes without really thinking about it. Her mind was a million miles away.

Her relationship with Draco was stilted and awkward, and with Pansy it was nearly as bad. They were trying, but—well. She wasn't who they'd thought her to be. Of course it was difficult for them.

In the middle of the exam period, Miriam Taylor, a third-year Ravenclaw, was revealed as a halfblood, and once more Rigel felt an impotent rage rise in her; that her classmates would be revealed, one by one, while _she _remained untouched in the face of the awful laws all of them were subjected to—

It burned in her, but there was nothing she could _do _about it. She was only one halfblood girl, after all.

For the first time in a long time, she was relieved to go home for the summer. At least there she didn't have to tiptoe around her two best friends.

xxx

But even returning home didn't have quite the results she would have desired. Even there, her façade was crumbling away from her. Remus knew, now, and so did Leo, and yet somehow no one else knew.

Maybe they just didn't want to know. Maybe they just didn't think about it. Harry wished that that was an option for her.

She was sixteen; she was fourteen. She was Rigel Black; she was Harry Potter. She was Riddle's precious pureblood Champion—but she was a halfblood.

Her parents loved her dearly, but they'd never before felt so far away as they did that summer.

All of which was to say that Harry was feeling stifled to the point of suffocation in her house; it was bad enough that she decided, finally, that she _had _to get out. And this time the Lower Alleys wouldn't cut it; it was different, away, but she was Harry there, the dueler, the potion-maker, and _people still knew her_.

So instead she told her parents that she was going to Hermione's house for a day or two, and went to the Lower Alleys for a Portkey.

xxx

The Portkey took her to the Forest of Dean. Its return function wouldn't activate until noon the next day. She was well and truly _alone_.

Harry had never bothered to learn very much about wilderness survival, though she didn't imagine it would come up. She'd brought her potions bag with her—she never went without it—and it had water and food in it, just as it always did.

Her walk through the woods was relaxing in a deeply foreign way; maybe she should have worried about that, that she was never otherwise so relaxed. She didn't. She didn't let herself; this wasn't the time for that. But the Forest of Dean was a muggle forest. There were no monsters here, human or otherwise. There were animals, of course, but _those _were never what Harry had feared.

It was nearing sunset when the sky clouded over, and the first drops of rain began to fall. Harry scowled at the sky. She didn't mind rain, not really, but she didn't fancy being wet all night, and so she began to search for a quick shelter. It went on long enough that she thought she'd have to make her own when she saw it—the willow on the hill.

It wasn't much of a hill, but the willow was huge and twisted and old, and its branches were thick and wide, and when she ducked under it—it wasn't a _Whomping _willow, just an ordinary one—she realized she'd been right: there was no rain falling here.

She sat on a gnarled root, and wished wistfully for the bluebell fire she'd seen Hermione light in a jar a time or three, or the ability to make a fire the muggle way, or, most of all, to be seventeen. She didn't know, actually, when the Trace would leave her; she didn't know if it went by calendar time or lived time. Maybe Snape could tell her.

Or maybe not. Harry didn't know if it was a good idea to ask him; he might then expect Rigel to do things, and if he ran into Archie and expected the same of him that could be problematic.

Her musings were interrupted by a loud, high-pitched mew; she looked around, but with night falling it took her longer than she would have liked for her to see the bedraggled black kitten pawing at one of her practical brewing boots.

"Oh, hello," she said, as if the kitten could understand her. Maybe she'd gotten a bit too used to her snakes. "It's a terrible night to be out, you know, for a thing your size. I don't think I mind so much, but I chose it. I can't imagine _you _did."

The kitten blinked, and stared straight at her, and suddenly Harry thought she understood what people meant about her true eyes being arresting. The kitten's eyes were _violet_, and if that was a natural eye color on cats she'd eat her cauldron. Maybe it was part-kneazle, or something. It mewled piteously, and she laughed slightly, and picked it up.

"Oh, poor thing," she murmured. "You're skin and bones, aren't you." She scratched the kitten behind its ears, and it purred, stretching to rub into her hand. "Hmm," she said absently, and with her free hand fished around in her potions bag to find something that a cat might be able to eat.

She found something for it eventually, and it ate gladly; she found something for herself too, and ate as well as she could. After that she found she was very tired, more tired than she'd thought herself to be.

Harry curled up between the roots of the willow tree, using her potions bag as a pillow, and held the kitten in her arms as she fell asleep.

xxx

She woke under a willow tree just slightly more gnarled than the one she'd fallen asleep under, sitting cross-legged in front of a low fire. The kitten had crawled into her lap and she petted him absentmindedly.

When she looked up, she saw a tall figure, cloaked and hooded, standing across the fire from her. Her heartbeat quickened, and she swallowed, but the only other thing she changed was her hands: she closed her fingers tightly around her wand, though she didn't draw it out.

"May I be of service?" she asked warily.

"I saw your fire through the trees," said the woman, tossing back her hood to reveal a face of unearthly beauty. Her voice was soft and husky, like the wind in the treetops—and yet it was also like a pack of hounds belling in the hunt, like the huntress urging them on. Harry's ears hurt at that voice, but not overwhelmingly so. She frowned at the newcomer. "May I sit?" asked the woman.

"I suppose," said Harry, for she had no good reason to refuse, and the woman smiled at her, sitting smoothly with a boneless grace that Harry couldn't hope to emulate.

"And so, my daughter," said the stranger, "you are now an apprentice to Severus Snape."

Harry stared. The daughter comment wasn't hard, even if it _was _a little odd—at home for the summer, she didn't bother to flatten her chest, after all, and her small breasts were plainly visible under her lightweight shirt. But _Rigel Black _was the only official apprentice of Severus Snape, as everyone knew, and Rigel Black was a boy.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she said finally, voice flat, and the woman smiled gently.

"Ah, but you do," she said. "In the summers, you play the part of Harriett Potter, noble halfblood girl. But in the school year you play the part of a supposed pureblood boy at Hogwarts while your cousin, the real Arcturus Black, replaces you at the American Institute of Magic."

The kitten jumped from Harry's lap, where she'd clenched her shaking hands into fists, and pawed at the woman's knee. She picked him up, and stroked him gently.

"Hush, little one," she said. "She only needs a moment or two to adjust to her fear."

"I'm not afraid," Harry snapped. The woman favored her with a skeptical look, and she sighed and looked away from her, staring into the fire. "All right, fine. I'm afraid. Happy? It's not like you just laid out a plot that, if it were true, would at best give me a one-way ticket to Azkaban." She paused, still gazing at the fire, while she gathered her thoughts. "You have me at a disadvantage," she said. "I don't know who you are, though you seem to know me."

"You have not guessed?" said the woman. "Look at me, child." And Harry did as she was bade. The woman's eyes were green, greener even than Harry's own, and seemed somehow deeper than any eyes she'd seen before. "Can't you see the truth?" asked the woman, and an echo of the pain she'd felt in the Black City rippled through Harry, who swallowed hard.

"Goddess," she said in a half-whisper, "Great Mother, Dark Lady…" She frowned. "So you're this Goddess that Draco's spell referred to. And the one the Ysandir did too."

"Yes," said the Goddess.

"I never heard of any Goddess being real before," Harry informed her. "Let alone coming down to visit us mere mortals. Why are you here?"

"The wheel turns," said the Goddess cryptically. "We have slept for so very, very long—but we are awakening. The world, my daughter, is about to change."

"Great," said Harry sarcastically. "Vague warnings and nonsense. How helpful."

"And you are covering your fear again," said the Goddess, and Harry scowled.

"Can't you let my fear alone?" she asked. "I never asked you to come marching into my life."

"No," said the Goddess. "Indeed, you ask for very little. But I cannot let your fear alone, either—for there are fears of yours which must be dealt with. You fear love of all kinds—I do not say this to press you to _romantic _love. That will come in time, should you be suited to it. But you also hold yourself apart from your parents, your uncles, your mentor—you do not feel you deserve even the love of your two-year-old sister."

"But I'm _lying _to them," said Harry quietly. "I'm lying to all of them—well, nearly all of them—and I—how can I deserve their love if all I do is _lie _to them?" The kitten jumped from the Goddess's lap and came to butt its head into her knee; she smiled ruefully at it and scratched its ears, as it bid her to do.

"And they love you still, those who know," said the Goddess. "As for your parents—do you imagine you could do anything on this scale to reduce their love for you?"

"No," said Harry, "probably not, at least in the purest sense. But—" She shook her head. "You're a goddess. It's different for you."

"If you do not wish to discuss it further, I will not press you," said her companion. "But think on what I have said." She smiled at Harry, just a bit too perfect to be entirely natural. "That is not your only fear, however. You also fear Tom Riddle."

Harry frowned at her. "I should think that was obvious," she said. "He's got the power to hurt me and my family. He doesn't like me—he wants to _control _me, I think. And he's reckless enough to not care too much when his schemes put _schoolchildren _at risk en masse. Of course I'm afraid of him."

"Listen to your fear, in this case," said the Goddess. "But do not let it control you! Tom Riddle is a dangerous man, but if you let your fear control you it will only allow him to further his goals."

"All right, then," said Harry, though it wasn't really anything she'd not thought of herself before.

"Before I go, I have a gift for you," said the Goddess, and then before Harry could say a word she reached into the fire and drew out a burning coal. "Take this, my daughter." And she held it out to Harry.

It ought to have seemed mad, to take a still-burning ember from anyone's hand. And yet—Harry could heal burns, after all. So it was without much fear that she accepted the ember, only to find that it was nearly cold.

She drew it closer to examine it, and found that the ember yet burned in a shell of what seemed to be some sort of thin crystal. One side stretched out to make a tiny loop, the sort she could thread a chain through. Curious.

When she looked up to ask her companion about it, she found that she was alone but for the kitten, and suddenly very tired; she curled up by the fire and slept with the kitten curled next to her, one hand wrapped around the ember-stone.

xxx

Harry woke in the cold dawn light, back stiff from sleeping on the cold ground. The kitten mewled plaintively at being woken, and she sighed at it.

"That was the strangest dream I've ever had," she told it. "And you were there, too. Care to explain?"

The kitten sniffed, and did not deign to offer an explanation. Harry pushed herself up to sitting, and only then did she notice that she held something in her hand.

She uncurled her fingers, and in her hand she saw the burning ember-stone. The one from her _dream_. The one the Goddess had handed to her. A chill went down her spine.

It had not been only a dream, as she had thought it to be.

"There's something not quite right about this place," she told the kitten. "Are you coming with me? I'm getting out of here." She wasn't quite sure why she spoke to it so, as if it were a snake that could answer her back.

_I'm coming_, said the kitten, and Harry froze, staring.

"Did you just… talk?" she asked faintly, and the kitten flicked his tail.

_Of course_, he said. _Don't look so surprised_. _ You talk to snakes, do you not? _

"Yes, but—that's different," said Harry. "I'm a Parselmouth. It's a _thing_. Cat-speak isn't a thing as far as I know, and if it is then it doesn't run in the family."

_Maybe I'm just a strange familiar_, said the kitten. He jumped at her then and crawled his way up her sleeve to sit on her left shoulder. _Are we leaving? _

"Yes," said Harry, "and you know—you really ought to _ask _before jumping on a person like that." Since you _can_, she didn't say.

_I am a cat_, said the kitten. _We do not "ask." _

Harry laughed helplessly at that, and descended the hill.

xxx

No one questioned her story of staying with Hermione, though Archie did look at her askance. Most of the focus was instead on the kitten.

"Can I keep him?" she asked. "I found him in Diagon Alley all alone."

"He'll be your responsibility," said Dad warningly, while Mum frowned.

"I don't know if you can take him across the ocean, sweetie," she said.

"That's all right," she said quickly, actually relieved at the objection. "He can go to Hogwarts with Archie, right?"

"Sure," said her cousin, briefly looking up from a Healing textbook before returning to it. "I can take the cat."

"That's all right then," said Mum. "What are you going to call him?"

"Blackie," Remus suggested.

"How about Pounce?" asked Sirius.

"No, no," said Harry, shaking her head. They weren't bad names, per se, but they didn't feel right to her.

"What about Sirius?" said Archie, grinning widely. Harry laughed. As Sirius gasped in mock-offense, her cousin added, "He's like a tiny, feline version of you, Dad."

"I think… Faithful," said Harry, her laughter subsiding. Faithful mewed proudly, rubbing against her ankle. Dad laughed at the sight.

xxx

When she went to the Lower Alleys later that day, she went alone. She didn't yet want to take Faithful to such a place—and besides she needed to talk to Mrs. Hurst. Faithful, much as she loved him already, would serve as a distraction from that.

Harry managed to make her way to Maywell without running into anyone, and she was glad of that; she was tired and nervous and distinctly not in the mood to talk to anyone besides Mrs. Hurst.

"Tea?" asked Mrs. Hurst once Harry was sitting in her office, and Harry nodded.

"Sure," she said. She waited while Mrs. Hurst gathered the kettle and tea, and while they waited for it to boil she sighed and rubbed her forehead. The ember-stone sat heavy in her bag, next to the crystal ring.

"Why are you here?" asked Mrs. Hurst. "You don't tend to come here for the joy of it, not like your friend Hermione."

"I went out in the woods yesterday," said Harry quietly as Mrs. Hurst poured her tea, and she wrapped her hands around her mug although it was nearly too hot to do so. "And I slept under a willow tree, and I dreamt that I met a goddess. She handed me an ember from the fire in my dream, and when I woke—" She shook her head, and pulled out the ember-stone. "When I woke this was in my hand. You mentioned a _Goddess _once, I think, so—I don't know anyone else to ask about this."

Mrs. Hurst reached out carefully to touch the ember-stone, but no sooner had she touched it than she hissed sharply and withdrew her hand, looking at Harry with an odd light in her eyes.

"Poor child," she said. "The Goddess has Her hand on you, I'd say. As for the Goddess—well. She's from an old pantheon; not many recall their names. And that stone is most certainly a divine token. Keep it close. It will help you, I'm certain." She paused then, giving Harry a measuring look. "Don't tell me you've been going to school in America, keeping your head down like a good little halfblood. You needn't tell me the _truth_, but you cannot be doing _that_."

Harry opened her mouth to deny it, then closed it again, and sipped at her tea as she thought. When she opened her mouth to speak again, it was, surprisingly even to her, the truth that came out. She was so _tired _of all the lies.

"If Riddle knew who I really was he'd be tearing his hair out," she said bitterly. "I'm not—you know I'm not at school in America. You never believed that." She turned the ember-stone over and over in her fingers as she spoke. "I didn't tell you where I _was _going to school, though. Where I _am _going to school." Harry swallowed down her fear, and said, "At school they call me Rigel Black."

"I see," said Mrs. Hurst.

"And—Archie, my cousin, who's meant to be at Hogwarts—he's Harry Potter at AIM. That's why Hermione has a school friend called Harry." She shook her head, and the whole story came spilling out, how she'd wanted so badly to study Potions and Archie had so longed to learn to heal, how it had spiraled so very, very far out of control, how Leo and Remus had learnt of her ruse from her fighting style, which she hadn't been able to disguise well enough.

When Leo had spoken to her, she'd been awash in emotions, and when Remus had spoken with her she'd still been floundering, and _he _had hardly been better—she'd been able to read that on him and it had been a terrible thing to see. Draco she'd hardly had a chance to _discuss _things with, and telling Pansy had been almost awful though she'd known it to be _necessary _for maintaining her friendship. But Mrs. Hurst sat across from her, calmly taking in everything she said, making no judgements of her choices as far as Harry could see.

Finally, raggedly, she reached the Black City in her tale. "They implied that I couldn't have done all I've done alone," she said. "That I'd had some sort of divine aid. And Draco's spell called upon a Goddess to come to our aid, and something answered that call. And I mean—I already told you about the meeting I had in the forest."

"I don't know if divine aid is necessary for a plan such as yours," said Mrs. Hurst. "I am only a healer, after all. But you are certainly an exceptional young woman, Harry, and while I can't say what, exactly, is the reason for the Goddess to have reached out to you, I _can _say that in every old story of mortals chosen by gods, they were all exceptional in one way or another."

Harry scowled into her tea, and said, "I never _asked _to be special, you know. All I wanted to do was brew potions."

Mrs. Hurst laughed at that for a brief moment before sobering again. "Oh, Harry," she said. "If I know anything at all, I know this—_you _were never going to be an ordinary girl, no matter how you wished it to be so."

"Still," said Harry crossly, "that doesn't mean I can't _dream _of it."

xxx

Before going home, she stopped by the custom metalwork shop where she'd gotten her suppressor ring and purchased a thin chain to hang the ember-stone on. She did so promptly and hung it around her neck, tucking it under her shirt.

She had the whole summer ahead of her, and she could only hope the rest of it would be a _little _less exciting than the first stretch had been.


End file.
